


A Taste So Sweet

by IndigoNight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dating, Established Relationship, Little bit of angst, M/M, food as part of the human experience, implied background Sam/Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 19:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30093660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoNight/pseuds/IndigoNight
Summary: Heimdall takes his first day off in a millennia, and there's only one person he wants to spend it with.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Heimdall
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	A Taste So Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% [hawksonfire's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/pseuds/hawksonfire) fault. I hope you're happy :P

“Don’t start.” Bucky narrowed his eyes in a warning glare at Steve in the mirror.

“I didn’t say anything,” Steve protested. He leaned casually in the open doorway of Bucky’s bathroom behind him, and his shit eating grin said more than enough.

“Get out,” Bucky ordered, without any real heat behind it.

Steve just shrugged innocently and turned to head back toward their shared living room. “Fine, keep primping,” he shot over his shoulder, his voice full of barely contained laughter. “But you’re going to be late.”

Bucky’s eyes shot to the clock display on his phone and he swore, hastily shoving his hand through his hair one more time and grabbing his jacket as he dashed for the door.

“Have fun,” Steve called after him, stretching back out on the couch comfortably.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sam added, adjusting automatically to Steve’s head suddenly being in his lap without bothering to look up from his book.

“I hate you both,” Bucky called back over his shoulder, and the echoes of their laughter followed him all the way down the hall.

Despite Steve’s teasing, Bucky wasn’t late. He bounced distractedly on the balls of his feet while he waited, hands shoved into his pockets and collar turned up against the cool autumn breeze. The wind was pretty strong this high up, but the air was fresh - for New York anyway - and he basked in the bright, late morning sun.

The only warning was a subtle shift in the air, a slight uptick in the ambient electricity that probably wouldn’t have been noticeable if he didn’t know to look for it. Then the massive, blinding column of light appeared, touching down on the now permanent runic pattern burned into the terrace landing pad. Bucky had to restrain himself from rushing forward before the light faded, revealing the tall, dark figure that it had brought.

“Hey,” he called, keeping his pace at just shy of a run as he hastily closed the distance between him as soon as the light faded completely.

The smile that spread across Heimdall’s face was small but bright and warm, making what felt like an absurd, fizzy bubble swell up in Bucky’s chest. “Good morning,” Heimdall greeted, his deep voice seeming to vibrate in Bucky’s bones. He stepped forward to meet Bucky, large hands curling around Bucky’s waist like they belonged there as he immediately pulled Bucky in for a deep kiss.

Bucky pressed into the kiss eagerly and it very nearly stole his breath away. By the time they broke apart, he was pretty sure that he was visibly blushing, but the glow in Heimdall’s bright golden eyes and soft warmth on his face made it more than worth it. “So, uh, welcome to New York,” he said, grinning dopily.

“Thank you.” Heimdall hadn’t let go of Bucky’s waist, holding him close so that their bodies were pressed together. “I am pleased to be here.”

If Bucky really stopped to think about the fact that he was a one hundred year old man and internationally renowned assassin, he might have felt a little bit embarrassed at the way he was grinning and clinging to Heimdall like a besotted teenager. But Heimdall was warm and solid against him, his scent earthy with hints of spice and something that couldn’t be found anywhere on earth, and it was so rare that they were on the same planet that Bucky really couldn’t bring himself to care.

Six months ago when he’d accompanied Steve and a delegation of diplomats to Asgard, romance was the absolute last thing he’d expected. But on their first night there, Bucky had found himself meandering aimlessly, enchanted by the grand, gleaming buildings, the huge, ornately carved statues, and most of all the dazzling array of completely foreign stars in the sky above him. He’d accidentally ended up on the rainbow road, where the lights of the city were dim enough that they didn’t obstruct his view of the nighttime sky, and so deeply distracted by the sight that he’d very nearly walked right off the edge of the bridge and into the rushing ocean below. Heimdall caught him, grasping the back of his collar and pulling him away from the edge like he was lifting a kitten by its scruff. He’d warned Bucky to pay more attention to where he was going, but his eyes were soft and amused.

Bucky had ended up spending all night at the Bifrost chamber, enthralled while Heimdall told him stories about Asgard’s stars and other far away worlds. Heimdall had been equally interested in life on earth; even though nothing Bucky had to say could hold a candle to any of Heimdall’s stories, the god had stayed attentive, asking questions and urging Bucky on. Somehow, Bucky had ended up dozing off with his head pillowed on Heimdall’s shoulder, and when the sun rose and Bucky had been called back to the city for the day’s meetings, Heimdall had caught caught him by the chin, pulling him in to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Bucky was pretty much done for after that. He’d spent every minute he could with Heimdall during the week they spent on Asgard. It was everything he could do not to embarrass himself when it came time for them to go home, trying hard to resign himself to the whole thing being just some crazy, magical fling. But Heimdall had pulled him close, murmuring, “I will miss you,” in his ear. Then, two days later, Heimdall had used his power of mental projection and inadvertently surprised the shit out of Bucky. Since then, they’d only gotten to see each other in person twice; once when the team was helping Thor with an invasion of trolls and once when the science brigade needed to consult with some of Asgard’s magicians to make a something-or-other because of a Bucky-hadn’t-really-bothered-paying-attention. But they’d had regular “dates” via mental connection, which were simultaneously thrilling and not at all enough.

“So,” Bucky said eventually, clearing his throat and pulling back just enough to put a modicum of modesty between them, even though he was pretty sure they were alone on the terrace. “Is there anything in particular you want to do today?”

Heimdall considered, his golden eyes dragging up and down Bucky’s body in a way that made him shiver. “Yes,” he said gravely. But before Bucky’s restraint broke and he started climbing the god like a tree, he added, “I would like to try a hot dog.”

Bucky blinked, then burst out in uncontrollable laughter. “You’re first day off in like a thousand years, and you want to go eat street food,” he wheezed after several minutes when he finally managed to catch his breath. “Sure, why not. Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.” Then he paused, belatedly remembering, “Thor left some clothes for you, if you want to change.”

Heimdall paused, glancing down at himself; he’d left his golden armor and impressive helmet behind, but his breaches, jerkin, and cloak wouldn’t exactly fit in even on the streets of New York. “Ah, yes,” he said, smiling crookedly, “perhaps that would be prudent.” 

Bucky tried not to fidget or pace too much while he waited for Heimdall to finish changing, and the whole thing very nearly became moot when he barely managed to resist ripping the clothes right back off again as soon as he saw Heimdall dressed in dark, tight jeans and a soft v-neck knit shirt. Honestly, it was ridiculously unfair for anyone to look that hot dressed in such basic, everyday clothes. But Heimdall threaded their fingers together, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of Bucky’s right hand, and Bucky somehow unstuck his jaw from the floor so that they could head down the elevator and out onto the bustling Manhattan street.

They just walked for a while, hand in hand as they strolled in easy tandem. The street was busy but not overcrowded, the early autumn air cool but the bright sun warm, and with the whole day ahead of them, they were in no particular rush. They chatted casually as they walked, discussing how things were going on Asgard and the Avengers’ latest missions as easily as they commented on the shop windows they passed and giant billboards looming over their heads; that was the thing about Heimdall, he could talk about pretty much anything, and treated every topic with the same focused sincerity, no matter how silly or mundane.

Eventually, Bucky pulled them to a stop in front of a proper New York hot dog cart and they ordered three hot dogs each. They turned into Bryant Park, finding a nicely shaded bench to sit and eat. 

Bucky settled himself with one leg bent, turned at an angle so that he could watch Heimdall properly. He bit his lip in amused anticipation while Heimdall took his first bite of hot dog and chewed it slowly. “Well?” he asked, unable to resist since Heimdall’s thoughtful face gave away nothing. “What do you think?”

Heimdall considered, tilting his head at the hot dog, and took another bite. “It is revolting,” he said with his mouth still full.

Bucky snorted, barely covering his mouth in time. “Yeah, that’s part of the appeal,” he laughed.

“Midgardians truly are peculiar creatures,” Heimdall mused wryly. But he finished all three of his hot dogs with apparent relish.

When they were done eating, they started walking again. Internally, Bucky scrambled to think of some place to take Heimdall or something he might want to do. He’d been so excited that Heimdall managed to arrange a whole day to come visit him that he’d forgotten to actually think about what they would do once he was here; truthfully, a not insignificant part of him would have been happy to just drag Heimdall back to the Tower where he had a bedroom and a door that locked. But Heimdall seemed to be in no particular rush to do anything, meandering aimlessly toward street performers, shop windows, and whatever else seemed to catch his attention. So there was nothing for Bucky to do but trail along behind him while he explored, letting the solid, callused weight of Heimdall’s hand in his own pull him along like a current.

Neither of them were paying particularly close attention to where they were going, since they had no specific destination in mind, but they somehow wound up in Chelsea, and it was impossible to miss the way Heimdall perked up and sniffed the air as they came across the entrance to the Chelsea Market. Bucky didn’t particularly relish the idea of the crowded, cramped, formerly industrial building, but the scents wafting out of it were tantalizing. 

They ended up spending hours working their way from display counter to display counter, idly checking out the various goods and sampling something from nearly every restaurant and food vendor they saw. Despite the jostling of too many people and the discomforting jumble of voices echoing all around them, there was something strangely perfect about it. Heimdall tasted every food they encountered with calculated enthusiasm; which at first concerned Bucky, worries about Asgardian metabolisms and if being on earth was somehow adversely affecting Heimdall flashing through his head, but it was hard to be too worried with joy so evident in the glimmer of Heimdall’s eyes. And it wasn’t like Bucky was complaining, his metabolism had no problem keeping up and the food was all pretty good, even the particularly weird hipster things that he had a sneaking suspicion Heimdall was more or less daring him to eat.

Just when Bucky thought the next person who bumped against him might be in serious danger of getting punched and his shoulders were starting to get sore from one twitch too many, the exit appeared in front of them and Heimdall steered him toward it. It was sort of shocking to step back outside and realize that it was well into the evening, the sun dipping low behind the skyline; he’d known they were inside for a while, but he hadn’t realized it was that long.

“Shit,” he muttered, glaring balefully at the sky.

Heimdall frowned, leaning a little closer as the street light changed in their favor and he gently guided Bucky across the street. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, I guess,” Bucky sighed. “I didn’t realize how late it is, that’s all.”

“Is there somewhere you need to be?” he asked.

Rationally, he knew it was stupid, and he certainly didn’t want to waste any more of their limited time sulking. But he still felt a little stiff and twitchy after the press of the crowd inside the market, made even worse by the hollow sadness brewing in the pit of his stomach at the thought of how soon Heimdall would have to leave. “No,” he said, trying valiantly to shove his maudlin thoughts away by wrapping his arm around Heimdall’s waist and leaning into him. “I’m just sorry you wasted your whole day.”

Heimdall stopped short, utterly unphased by the group of women weighed down by shopping bags who swore at them when their group had to split up to move around them. He turned to face Bucky, his expression very serious. He cupped Bucky’s cheek with one hand, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Not a moment of my time today has been wasted,” he said gravely, his luminous golden eyes holding Bucky in place like a magnetic field. 

Bucky felt his cheeks flush immediately under the weight of Heimdall’s full attention, his stomach twisting but in a strangely pleasant way. “But all we did was walk around and eat food,” he said.

“Did you not enjoy yourself?” Heimdall’s frown deepened.

“No, no I did,” he reassured hastily, instinctively reaching out and resting his hand on Heimdall’s chest as though the touch would reinforce his words. “I’d be happy doing pretty much anything with you. But you only have one day before you have to go back to Asgard. I should have shown you more of New York. I should have, I don’t know, taken you to the Met or something more interesting.”

The tension and worry melted out of Heimdall’s face and he threw back his head with a laugh. “I cannot imagine a more pleasant experience of New York than I have had today,” he said, then he paused, his eyes sweeping up Bucky’s body, and amended, “well, perhaps I can imagine one.”

Bucky huffed, jabbing his elbow into Heimdall’s side playfully in a half hearted attempt to cover his flush. Heimdall just ducked easily out of the way, still laughing as he slung his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, dragging him back in close and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He started walking again, steering Bucky along with him. Whether by coincidence or design, they made their way up onto the High Line, where the crowd was a little thinner.

“I have seen much of New York before,” Heimdall said after several minutes of walking silently, almost startling Bucky.

“Oh. Right,” Bucky said, feeling stupid. Of course he had, Heimdall was an ancient, powerful god, it wasn’t like he needed Bucky to play tour guide for him.

Heimdall’s arm tightened around his shoulders, tucking him a little closer up against his side. “I have seen millions of cities across thousands of worlds,” he continued, low voice easy and melodic, like a warm blanket being woven around them in the twilight glow. “I have seen millennia of wonders and horrors come and go. However, there is very little that I have truly experienced.”

Bucky frowned, tilting his head up to study Heimdall’s face; the angle of it and the way he was cuddled against Heimdall’s side meant that his chin ended up digging into Heimdall’s broad chest, which with someone else might have made him feel small and uncomfortable, but in the moment just felt cozy. He considered Heimdall’s words, but gave up and shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he admitted.

Heimdall was quiet for a moment, but it was the kind of quiet that meant he was considering his next words carefully, not judging Bucky’s lack of understanding. “I do not regret my life,” he said eventually. “My duty as guardian of worlds is an honor and a pleasure. My sight has allowed me to learn much. But, at times, there is a lack of satisfaction in sight alone.”

Bucky screwed up his face; trying to think too hard about there being thousands of worlds spread across the many universes, let alone  _ knowing _ about them all, made his head hurt. “So that’s why you wanted to eat a bunch of stuff?” he asked. “So you could… taste it, instead of just looking at it?”

Heimdall dipped his head in a nod. “In part, yes,” he agreed. “But also, in every known world, food is an inherently shared experience. There are very few beings who value food solely for its sustenance. The act of creating food and sharing it with one another is one of care, an expression of the self. I believe that one cannot truly know a people until you have broken bread with them.”

Bucky watched the pavement beneath his feet for several minutes, thinking over Heimdall’s words. “I had a hard time with food,” he blurted, his mouth opening and pushing the words out before he could think better of it. “After, you know, HYDRA.” Heimdall nodded, his arm instinctively flexing to squeeze Bucky’s shoulders comfortingly, but he didn’t interrupt. “They didn’t, uh, give me solid foods much, so my stomach was pretty messed up for a while. It’s fine now,” he added quickly, impulsively, maybe because he was too used to people hovering over him and didn’t want that from Heimdall now. 

“But I pretty much had to relearn about food from scratch,” he continued. “I think… I think the first time I really felt human again,  _ truly _ human, I was squating in some piece of shit apartment - I did that a lot for a while - but for some reason the gas was still turned on there, and one of the burners on the stove worked. I didn’t even know what I was doing, honestly, it was just some sort of instinct, but there was a twenty-four hour grocery around the corner. So I went and got some stuff, it was basic really, nothing to brag about, just some pasta and canned sauce. But there was something about…” he trailed off, unable to explain, further both because he didn’t know how and because his throat suddenly felt too tight. Instead he just shrugged like that was an effective end to his sentence. He swallowed, blinking hard and shaking his head in an effort to clear it. “Sorry,” he muttered, “I guess I just mean… I get it, how food can be important.”

Bucky hadn’t even noticed that at some point during his ramble they’d stopped walking. But Heimdall was facing him, standing close enough that the bulk of his body felt like some kind of protective shield looming over him. Instead of responding right away, Heimdall gently grasped Bucky’s hands in both of his own and led him over to a nearby bench. He sat, pulling Bucky down so that he was effectively straddling Heimdall’s lap, Heimdall’s broad hands spread across his back, both bracing him and holding him close.

“For me,” Heimdall said softly, catching Bucky’s gaze and holding it, “there is more to the experience than food itself.” There was a weight to his gaze that should have been uncomfortable, but instead it just made warmth rise in Bucky’s chest, spreading outward and chasing away the phantom chill of his memories. “Food cannot taste so sweet unless it is shared with cherished company.”

Bucky swallowed, blinking against a prickle in the corners of his eyes. “Boy, you sure know how to sweet talk a fella,” he croaked, a pathetic failed attempt at a deflecting joke.

Heimdall smiled, soft but bright and warm. He cupped Bucky’s cheek, callused fingers scrapping lightly over his stubble. Gently he ran the pad of his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip, his other arm still wrapped around Bucky’s back. For some reason, the touch teetered on the edge of pain, making him feel like something precious, like Heimdall was gathering up all the broken pieces of him and declaring them beautiful.

Bucky didn’t even realize that he was holding his breath until Heimdall leaned in and kissed him. It was slow and sweet, and they’d kissed a hundred times before but somehow every one felt new and different. Bucky sank into it, all of the tension draining out of him as though burned away by the fire of Heimdall’s passion. He moaned helplessly into Heimdall’s mouth, hands clutching at his shirt and knees instinctively tightening around his thighs.

“Perhaps,” Heimdall said, breaking the kiss after what felt like both seconds and an eternity. He didn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together while they breathed in each other’s air. “We should return to the Tower, so that I may show you just how sweetly I can talk.”

A shudder ran down the length of Bucky’s spine and he could only nod, surging in to steal another deep, breathless kiss. The internal awareness of his own brokenness wasn’t gone, but the weight of it, sitting in his chest where it always did, felt a little less. It allowed him to smile, to push his uncertainty and shame aside in favor of just embracing the moment. “Wouldn’t want you to miss any of the New York experience,” he agreed, the playful tease in his voice almost ruined by how hoarse and wrecked it was.

Heimdall smiled like the sun cresting the horizon. “Yes,” he agreed, and it was gratifying to hear that he sounded nearly as wrecked as Bucky did, “that would be a terrible shame.”


End file.
